


Tonight Romanticize the Automobile

by Riachinko



Category: Family Guy (Cartoon)
Genre: Bestiality, Car Sex, Cock Rings, Established Relationship, Handcuffs, M/M, Mild S&M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 16:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14918904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: Brian takes Stewie for a ride in more ways than one, get it? Pwp





	Tonight Romanticize the Automobile

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to [Buy Me L̶o̶v̶e̶ Lust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14711381). If you choose to skip that this will still mostly make sense I think, but it'll be better if you read them sequentially ;'9

For two weeks, there's been a retaped Amazon box in the back seat of Brian's Prius - Stewie notices it in his peripherals, every time Brian drops him off at preschool; every time they go out for ice cream or run errands for Lois. There's even a shipping label taped to the top of it.

Brian's just never sent it back.

Stewie considers it a tiny, perverse victory, that maybe Brian enjoyed himself enough to keep the remnants of the unauthorized purchase, even if they _have_ been repackaged and left untouched in the car; the box a subtle reminder of what they did and what Stewie is capable of, of which no passenger but him knows the contents.

He doesn't bring it up and he doesn't know if Brian's just forgotten about it.

He still catches Brian exchanging heated messages on Tinder at night sometimes, and when he checks the dog's internet history, there are new adult sites and videos listed. He’s gotten used to falling asleep in the blue glow of Brian's cellphone.

When the doorbell rings on what’s begun as a painfully ordinary Wednesday, Stewie is nestled in Lois’ right arm, waiting bemused for Days of Our Lives to end while she dusts the living room. It's a package from Amazon, and Lois takes it from the courier with idle curiosity just as Brian makes his way out of the kitchen on all fours, barking at the stranger.

He halts as soon as he sees her shake it, closing the door with her heel.

Brian orders a lot of useless crap from Amazon, and so Stewie doesn't question what's in the box. Besides, Jolly Farm Revue is on.

 

 

 

 

His phone vibrates from under the pillow and Stewie startles, shaken from a dream that he only vaguely remembers and can't explain. He blinks dumbly down before bracing himself for the bright light; turning the pillow over to see the time on his phone: 2:55am.

His bootycalls might be simple, but they aren't dumb enough to think he's going to respond at such an hour, so he knows it's Brian texting him even before he unlocks the screen.

<< _Wanna go for a drive?_ >>

Stewie scoffs under his breath, turning to look at Rupert.

“D’you believe this guy?”

<< _Do you know what time it is?_ >>

<< _yeah_ >>

<< _Then no._ >>

He's about to tuck the phone back into its hiding spot, but hesitates, waiting for the inevitable drunken begging that he's used to. He can hear Brian's footsteps creaking up the stairs; can hear them stop about halfway, and then his phone is vibrating once more.

<< _I promise you you want togo for a drive_ >>

Stewie sighs, his arms falling to his sides dramatically, staring up at the ceiling.

“I suppose this is farewell, Rupert. Brian’s convinced me to go drunk driving with him against my better judgment,” he says softly, hands at the ready to text the dog back. “When they find my mangled corpse, let them know I once was beautiful.”

<< _Fine_

 _But I'm not getting dressed so don't expect me to get out of the car to buy you munchies_ >>

When no further acknowledgement vibrates at him, Stewie climbs the bars of his crib and hops to the floor with a soft thud. His cheeks burn, and it's a little embarrassing to want to leave his bed at nearly three in the morning to hang out with his drunken idiot dog.

But he likes Brian.

As the thought crosses his mind, he feels lame dressed as he is - he's going for a late night spin in the car like adults sometimes do. He uses the light of his phone to rummage about in the closet for a moment, stripping off his usual blue sleeper and pulling on some Baby Gap jeans and a burgundy hoodie. Some matching Samoa Athletics and he's out the door a well-dressed fool.

Brian meets him at the foot of the stairs, and he isn't drunk - not that Stewie can detect. He isn't wavering back and forth, doesn't smell like gin and tonic, and those eyes hooded with nonchalance aren't red at all.

“I thought you weren't gonna get dressed,” he teases with a faint smile.

Stewie spits a passive “Shutup” as he walks quickly past, stopping at the door and waiting for Brian to catch up. He can hear the jingle of car keys picked up from the coffee table - immediately muffled by Brian's paws so as not to wake the family - but when Stewie turns to look, Brian also has today's parcel under his arm with a familiar smile emblazoned on the side.

“You buy some flame seat covers or girly mud flaps for your douchemobile?” Stewie chides as they walk together out the door, the car lights flashing once as the dog unlocks the car.

“Just get in,” he says, holding the passenger side door open, and Stewie does.

The box is tossed carelessly to the back seat as Brian sits and fastens Stewie's seatbelt, and then his own. He's strangely quiet about it; doesn't say where they're going or anything, just starts the car and turns down the radio to 12 as he backs out of the driveway and onto the empty street.

The dashboard reads 3:11am.

Stewie yawns repeatedly over Miley Cyrus and Ed Sheeran, at first covering his mouth to hide the fact from Brian, but eventually not bothering. He's young and exhausted, after all, without much incentive to stay alert when his friend isn't even saying anything.

He tries to sing along to the radio, but the mood doesn't feel right so he reserves himself to silently keeping a mental note of which streets they've turned down; trying to map out the route to anyplace recognizable. The streetlights become farther and farther apart, and the road darker and darker; Stewie counts each wash of light over his window.

He thinks he sees a raccoon.

It's mildly exciting, but Brian doesn't reply when Stewie baits him with an exaggerated, “Ooh!”

Finally things are starting to look familiar, but Stewie frowns, cranking his head to read the wooden sign as they drive past; their car turning to park beside a tree.

“Anal Point? I guess nobody ever said you were covert about what you want,” he scoffs. “I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you woke me at this hour to get your jollies off.”

He looks out the window wistfully sighing, “I suppose it's too much to ask to simply make out beneath the stars like a couple of lovestruck high schoolers?”

“After what happened last time, I didn't think romance was what you wanted,” Brian says darkly, killing the engine. “We won't be bothered here.”

He isn't wrong. Other than the Prius, there are only two cars parked on the hill, one several spots over facing the bright lights of the sleeping city, and one parked farther back in the surrounding forest. The place is dead - the benefit of coming to Anal Point this early on a Thursday, Stewie supposes.

The kid grins deviously, cocking his head toward Brian, who's already unfastened his own belt and Stewie's. He opens his mouth to quip, but then Brian has the passenger seat reclining, and they're tumbling back together into the back seat of the car.

And then Brian's mouth is on a disoriented Stewie's, clashing their teeth together, forcing Stewie open wider with the flats of their tongues tangled together; easing into Stewie's throat until the kid hiccups around him and they have to part for breath.

“Is that what you wanted?”

Stewie looks disheveled already; taken aback and quiet when he answers, “...No.”

The subject is changed as Stewie makes to shuffle and sit up properly, leaning against the Amazon package with the expired return label.

“You didn't send it back, you dirty mutt,” he grins, “You know, I knew you'd come crawling back for more.”

Brian says nothing, but runs a claw down the seam of the parcel, through packing tape and label. Stewie gets only the barest of glimpses when Brian opens the flaps of the box to look inside, but its contents are no surprise: the fur-laced handcuffs that Brian had haphazardly repackaged, the anal beads and the Vadim Farrell dildo that at nine-and-a-half inches long had - admittedly - been a shock value purchase.

But behind Brian, Stewie catches sight of the other Amazon parcel - the one that showed up this morning that had Brian uneasy around Lois. He isn't naive enough to think there's nothing fun inside, if Brian made a point to bring it.

“What's in the other one?”

Brian looks almost as though he'd forgotten about it, peeking behind him and gingerly grabbing at it; slicing the seam of the tape as he'd done with the first box. The only lights in the car are from the view of Quahog from the windshield, but even still, Stewie swears he can see the dog’s cheeks flush through his forced indifference.

The first thing he pulls from the box and hands to his small friend is a children's police play set, with a cheap silver-plated badge, handcuffs and a fluorescent orange dart gun.

Stewie's eyes widen childishly. “Are we going to play cops and robbers?” he beams. “I'm going to be Lone Cop Michael Dooley, like Jim Belushi before the weight of the world broke his spirit.”

Brian gets to removing the items from their flimsy cardboard packaging, only half listening as Stewie prattles on, chewing his words.

“You can be Jerry Lee...since I know you have a nose for drugs.”

The dull acrylic click of the handcuffs sounds off behind Stewie, Brian having reached over to lock one cuff the door handle. And then cold paws are on him, shoving up underneath the hem of his hoodie, the pads of his thumbs roaming over the expanse of Stewie's bare chest.

“Off,” he demands.

It's meant to show dominance, but it only makes Stewie chuckle facetiously.

“Is that all? You ordered a dollar store police toy from Amazon and you're only going to arrest the _door_?” His brow furrows. “And we already had handcuffs.”

He allows Brian to unzip his top, making the deliberate choice to be difficult, pushing his friend to do better. The dog's tongue laps at Stewie's uncovered neck the second it gets the chance, teeth grazing soft, sensitive skin--

And then Stewie's hands are free of his sleeves and Brian finally speaks again, running his paws down the kid's arms, grabbing him firmly and raising his small hands above his head.

“You woulda been able to get out of those.”

There's a click and some discomfort, and Stewie's wrists are bound together in one cheap plastic cuff.

“You wily bastard,” he says, but there's only admiration in his voice as he tugs at the restraint for show, rattling the plastic links that connect him to the door handle. He waggles his eyebrows, “I guess you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks.”

“...I should have bought a gag.”

Brian sets the unneeded police toys aside and goes back to the box. Stewie tries to see as well, but with the cuffs on, he's allowed just enough room to wiggle around, making any position more than awkward and a little bit painful, but doable. He twists the best he can, ending up on his right side with his back against the seat.

“I'm game to play along, Brian,” Stewie starts, watching as Brian hangs the hoodie in the window, “but I do wish you'd chosen something rather more comfortable. Like Cambodian silk rope. A note to keep in your pocket for next time, perhaps.” He can already feel the plastic chafing against his wrists. “Lois is going to notice.”

“Don't talk about her right now,” Brian says flatly, pulling a smaller pink box from the Amazon parcel and setting it aside.

“It hurts.”

“Then you probably love it.”

The comment sends colour straight to Stewie's cheeks and blood to his groin; a spiral of butterflies in his chest making its way downwards.

Brian empties the box, setting a fresh bottle of lube next to Stewie's chest. It smells faintly of artificial cherry, even through the packaging, and makes Stewie inwardly cringe - at least until Brian's hovering over him, paws at the fly of his jeans; popping the button with ease, tugging the zipper firmly down and then the jeans and Stewie's diaper are off in one fell swoop.

Stewie inhales, holding in humid, stale air. Fur brushes against dewey, naked flesh and makes him shudder.

“So what did you have planned next?”

His jeans are hung in the opposite window by the belt loops - their makeshift curtains doing little to obscure their view of the outside world, but are better than nothing and to be caught at Anal Point wasn't much of a worry to begin with. Cops scarcely came by and people kept to themselves unless there was a rager or it was Prom Night.

Brian hums; unlike during the prelude to their last encounter, Brian doesn't presently feel lonely and rejected; he doesn't have any pathetic motivation for wanting Stewie the way he does. At first glance of Stewie's naked form, he even feels regret. But then Stewie wiggles a toe against Brian's thigh - arching his back to try a similarly comfortable new position - and Brian swallows thickly as any negative feelings dissipate.

“Close your eyes.”

Stewie complies, turning his head into his arms as well as shutting his eyes; his lashes fluttering as much as his heart. “This is exciting,” he coos, “I didn't know you had it in you, Bry. ”

His cocksure grin has Brian's pulse racing. There’s nothing but the sound of cardboard being torn and a little bit of rummaging before there's a paw on Stewie's right thigh - Brian's thumb massaging circles into it - and something rolling down onto the kid’s burgeoning erection.

He flinches upwards immediately, eager to see what Brian is doing to cause this foreign sensation - eyes opening despite his instruction. Then there's a push of a button and suddenly the world is vibrating, making Stewie's eyes fly open wide with surprise for a split second before rolling back, half-lidded in ecstasy.

He chirps out unintelligibly - Brian thinks it might be “Oh my God!” but the rattling of plastic chains and his heart beating in his ears distorts everything too much to tell.

Brian damn near echos the kid.

He holds Stewie's legs up to make room for himself, aligning his hips flush with Stewie's ass and rutting against him mindlessly as he hardens; taking in every raucous moan with each shallow thrust.

“Well that shut you up,” Brian chuckles under his breath, “more or less.”

In two minutes flat, Stewie is arching his back, writhing in orgasmic finality despite the toy’s insistence on vibrating past his limit. He chances a glance down at the pink silicone ring at the base of his cock - at the infantile shape of a bear holding a bullet-size vibrator, and then at the reddish tip of Brian's cock sliding up against it.

Stewie all but howls when Brian covers his body, pressing their groins together and forcing the vibrations stronger. That, combined with the skid of Brian's cock against his thigh; those pointed teeth scraping his neck, the shell of his ear - it's pure bliss.

“You sound good when you're not being a smartass,” Brian whispers with hot breath against the boy's flushed cheek. “But you can do better.”

He pulls away with the bottle of lube in hand, and eyes Stewie's original Amazon order, sitting on the floor of the car half open and at the ready. He knows just what he wants; pulls the strip of silicone anal beads from it and begins slicking them up, unabashed as the car fills with the scent of fake fruit.

“Leave it to you to buy the cheap stuff,” Stewie hisses, already feeling delirious with the stupendous pain in his wrists gnawing at him and the vibrations against oversensitive flesh. “Ah--! Fuck!”

Brian has the smallest bead at the tip lubed and lined up with the kid's entrance--

“Beg me to do it,” he says unaffected, rubbing a teasing thumb around the toy - pressing, massaging, but not penetrating.

Stewie's hips buck, pushing down into the touch. His eyes close so tight he can see starbursts; the vibrations jetting through him make his blood boil and he can't help but groan, raw need roaring up from deep in his throat.

“Bark like a dog and I'll put it in.”

“Th-that's stupid,” Stewie wails into his armpit. “Don't try to make me do s-something like that…Dumb dog.”

Brian pulls away, then, and although Stewie doesn't look, he can hear the grin in Brian's voice when he says, “Hey, it's fine if you don't want it.”

A tiny foot kicks out in a failed attempt to land a blow, but Brian's too far back, back resting against the opposite door. He rolls down the window; pulls out a smoke and lights up.

“N-no,” Stewie whines, “are you-- Are you taking a _smoke break_ ? Am I boring you?” His feet flail about yet again, more earnestly trying to kick Brian now. 

“Bark like a dog and I'll put it in,” the dog shrugs, taking a long draw of his cigarette and blowing the resulting smoke past Stewie's jeans out the window.

They're silent for what seems like a long time - half of the smoke, at least - then there's a cartoonish imitation of a dog’s bark. A faint utterance of the literal word, “Arf. Arf.”

Brian shuffles forward on his knees; puts his cigarette out on the plastic handcuff, a mere inch away from Stewie's trembling wrist. The pad of his paw snakes its way down Stewie's jawline, guiding the kid’s head to turn; to look at him.

“Don't be offensive about it,” he scoffs. “I think you know what I wanna hear.”

Stewie's face is bright red and indignant. “One would think a dumb mutt might just take what he can get and jump straight to the fucking,” he grimaces, teeth bared. “I suppose...I'm proud of you for putting in the effort...”

And then Stewie is actually barking - the best imitation of Brian that he can muster under the circumstances. And as an instant reward, Brian's paw is back at the round of his friend's ass, first slick bead at the entrance, breaching--

“Yes!” Stewie coughs out. “More--!”

“Hm?”

More barks have Brian slipping the second, bigger bead inside, watching it disappear; tempted to pull it out already just to hear the kid make noise.

“Three more to go.”

Stewie turns his face desperately into the car door, nice and cool against his sweaty temple. He whimpers and Brian inserts one more of the beads without Stewie even needing to make a sound - but the fourth doesn't come as easily.

Brian gives into temptation; tugs the third bead free of the kid's body and the second halfway out. Then they're plunged back in and Stewie gives a startled cry, whining; leaving spittle against the door handle.

“ _Brian_ \--”

He spasms once more, cock pulsating, numb to the pain and just going along for the ride now with another bark falling thoughtlessly from his lips.

Brian chuckles darkly, watching the display with grim satisfaction. “This is…ridiculous.”

He snakes a teasing hand downward, pawing at Stewie's groin, making him choke and moan; making him buck his hips so hard that the fourth bead enters with a pop, and Brian doesn't want to bother waiting any longer, shamelessly aroused by the situation he's created. He wants to get off.

“Think you could take it if I fucked you with the beads in?” he asks cooly. He isn't serious, but ten bucks says Stewie agrees to it. “Not like you haven't taken more, I'll bet. I've seen that little black book of yours.”

Stewie's jaw hangs open, “Fuck--”

“I'm calling you a whore,” Brian says, “aren't you going to call me an alcoholic mutt or something?”

“Fuck, _yes_ \--”

Brian pops the last of the beads inside without much care, and just as quickly pulls out the lot of them. Stewie yelps, gritting his teeth through a dopey smile and another affirmative hiss. Brian repeats the motion, pushing each coin-sized bead inside; tugging them out to a melody of moans. The third repetition has Brian smacking Stewie's right haunch once all five beads are in. He writhes uselessly as Brian does the whole thing again and again, rubbing soft white fur over his hips and thighs and knees; relaxing taut muscles and easing him out of delirium.

“Fuh-- Brian, yeah, h--” Stewie gags, “hit me again.”

Brian doesn't even think, just slaps the kid across the cheek with restrained force. Stewie purrs in response, keening into the touch of Brian's thumbpad over his lips.

“Hit me,” he begs again.

The thought is enticing but Brian is otherwise distracted - there's the crinkle of tearaway packaging and he's rolling a condom down over his shaft; a snap of the lube cap and then he’s pouring out a thin stream of it over his cock. The air inside the car is dizzyingly hot and then finally, Stewie is smacked again more softly as Brian tuts and strokes himself.

“Do the dog thing again.”

Stewie opens his mouth to bark but Brian pushes in without any warning and all that comes out is a startled cry to go with the immediate burn of being filled. He has to pant to even his breath, recovering from the sudden burst of pain, willing himself to accommodate Brian. 

“Move,” he mumbles, sucking in a weak breath, chest shaking with every exhale.

Brian starts to rock his hips at a steady pace, pushing in deeper and holding onto the kid’s ankles for leverage. At first, Stewie's cringing, speechless with tears welling in the corners of his eyes - but it only takes a few short moments, with Brian slowing his thrusts, to have Stewie whimpering; moaning soft “ahs” each time he's pushed back against the car door.

“Brian--”

With the call of his name, it's almost as though the dog is awaken from a trance. He stills, causing the boy beneath him to groan quietly in frustration. He bends; fishes around in the box on the floor, but he's still attached to Stewie at the groin and it awkwardly limits his movement.

“What are you doing?”

“I wanna get use out of everything you spent my money on,” Brian says plainly. “I just gotta get--”

The dildo’s box is unsealed but not open, emblazoned with the image of a buff young man with piercing hazel eyes - Brian would roll his own eyes if he wasn't so eager to finish what he's started; it's a bit of a struggle to twist at the hip and open the packaging, but in the end, Brian returns his attention to Stewie with the whole nine meticulously-molded inches in hand.

It has a suction cup base - Brian licks it and after drawing Stewie's hoodie to the side, sticks the toy smack dab in the lower centre of the window just above Stewie's head. It jiggles up and down comically, and Stewie cranes his neck to take a look.

“What’re we going to do with that?” he asks, eyebrow cocked and a questioning grin tugging at his lips. “You've got some pretty funny ideas for an alcoholic mutt.”

Brian pulls out, to Stewie's chagrin, leaving the kid empty and sore in his absence, bucking his hips, seeking friction. Considering his options, Brian takes a second to haul the Amazon box up to the seat. With Stewie still handcuffed to the door, it takes a bit of maneuvering to get him there, but he holds tight to Stewie's hips to guide him.

“Get on top.”

Stewie huffs. “Usually when I hear that I'm crawling onto something…a _little_ more…”

“Just do it,” Brian frowns.

He ushers the boy onto the box with a light smack on the bottom, helping him to keep his balance when Stewie starts to fall over, tugging tight on the handcuffs to try to keep himself steady. There isn't much room - he's limited by the cuffs and chain, and now the kid's five inches higher with his knees at the very edge of the box and his toes digging into the cardboard flaps.

When he chances a glance back at Brian, the dog is on him, tongue running hot and wet over Stewie's left shoulder, licking a stripe up to his jawline until his tongue is lolling out just above the boy's reddened lips. Stewie tilts his head up and closes the gap between them, eager to accept Brian's tongue on his own.

They kiss for only a brief moment before Brian is holding the kid’s chin, turning his wet lips to Vadim Farrell’s cock. Stewie parts them instinctively as Brian guides him onto it until it's hitting the back of Stewie's throat. Tears sting, unbidden in his eyes.

“You can do it, champ,” Brian says cockily, mimicking Stewie's own words from their tryst two weeks ago.

The satisfaction he gets from the teasing words - the rush of power that he imagines Stewie felt in a similar moment - it’s intoxicating. His eyes slip halfway closed from exhaustion and lust, but Brian finds himself back between Stewie's legs easily, standing on the car seat at the perfect height.

Stewie mumbles out the dog's name around the toy in his throat; mumbles out what sounds like “come on.”

So regardless of their adopted roles, Brian follows the order and pushes inside from behind, the initial thrust forcing the dildo further into his partner’s throat; bringing Stewie with him and pulling him off of it when his cock partially withdraws.

He pushes in and again forces the dildo into Stewie's throat. In withdrawal, the weight of the dildo sits on the tip of Stewie's tongue, followed by a throaty moan.

“ _Ahhn-_ -!”

The kid’s tight and Brian's feeling high on the power rush. “God, Stewie,” he groans out, head thrown back. “I'm gonna freakin’ lose it.”

He's heaving deep breaths at the ceiling now, paws digging into his young friend's sides so hard that Stewie can feel the faint dig of claws in his flesh. They're always so careful about avoiding marks, so the very fact that Brian is throwing all of their rules to the wind is wholly arousing. He doesn't mind; he wants to feel it.

“Fuck, _Brian_ \--”

The vibrations from the cock ring are still flowing between them, especially strong when Brian goes balls deep. They groan together in unison, Stewie snapping his hips back to meet Brian; it's a perfect angle, and soon Brian is gasping, pulling Stewie to him with ruthless force, making the car teeter back and forth all too obviously.

Stewie grunts, gagging around the rubber cock, his words indecipherable but egging Brian on just the same, pushing in deeper and deeper and only just barely conscious of his knot.

And then Brian is shaking, rutting into Stewie’s backside, cursing over and over in whispers against the kid’s sweat-soaked back as he comes. Stewie spasms and whines around the toy in his mouth, riding the high of orgasm as the dog does the same, and then there’s absolute silence, save for the monotonous buzzing of Stewie's cock ring.

With a click, Brian turns the thing off, and Stewie pulls away from the dildo with a pop. A trail of drool comes with him and dribbles down his chin.

“That was...nice,” he says breathlessly, flinching as Brian withdraws from him, tying his condom and casually tossing it out the window.

“Yeah.”

“Sun’s coming up.”

And Stewie’s right - it’s 5:24 in the morning by now, and the birds are awake in the trees around them, chirping with vigor as the very first rays of sunlight begin to wash over Quahog.

“Mm-hm.”

Brian sighs, regaining even breaths, and envelopes Stewie’s petite body with his own, wrapping his arms around Stewie’s shoulders to undo the handcuffs. They click open without the use of a key, and the kid tumbles back against the dog’s velvety chest, immediately gripping his wrists to rub at them where the skin is angry and brilliant pink. Then snowy soft paws cover his hands, and Stewie melts into the embrace.

Stewie closes his eyes, mumbles, “Let’s go home.”

 

 

 

 

The drive home is as silent as the drive to Anal Point.

Stewie even manages to nod off for a little while, only waking once Brian is parked back at home on Spooner St. and is packing their used toys back into the Amazon boxes to deal with later. He weaves the cardboard flaps securely closed, and turns to find Stewie looking at him from the baby seat.

“You gonna send those back?” he chides with a yawn.

“I think that’s a lost cause by now.”

Stewie stretches in his seat, ejecting the seatbelt and turning around fully. It’s a little bit chilly at such an early morning hour, and he shivers, pulling the burgundy hood up over his head.

“I guess I’ll just have to make sure to get my money’s worth out of them,” Brian smiles, eyelids beginning to dip.

Stewie hops out of the car and meets Brian around the driver’s side back seat. “Maybe next time at a reasonable hour.”

And then Brian’s lips are against his own again for a fleeting moment as he scoops the kid up, kicking the car door closed behind him. It might be the too-bright orange glow of a new day’s sun, but Stewie can’t help but smile dreamily at Brian’s gesture. There’s a glint in the dog’s eye that feels right.

There may be a chance for romance yet.

“You got it, kiddo.”

Stewie hums in acceptance and snuggles his face into Brian’s fur. He falls asleep slung over Brian’s shoulder before they even make it through the front door, with sugarplum visions of his next Amazon order at the forefront of his mind and hope in his heart.


End file.
